One bright morning as the Fox was following his sharp nose through the wood in search of a bite to eat, he saw a Crow on the limb of a tree overhead. This was by no means the first Crow the Fox had ever seen. What caught his attention this time and made him stop for a second look, was that the lucky Crow held a bit of cheese in her beak.
Refrain:Some bright morning, Some glad morning,When the sun is shining in th'eternal sky;Some bright morning, Some glad morning,We shall see the Lord of Harvest, by and by.
The music is bright and engaging, and at the same time quite soulful. It asks players and conductors to commit fully to a very direct and powerful personal feeling. As a motivation for approaching the piece I have attached the following quote, taken from an interview with the poet, Jane Kenyon:
One bright day in the middle of the nightTwo blind boys set out to fight.Back to back they faced each otherTook out their knives and shot each other.A dead/deaf policeman heard the noiseAnd set out to find the two blind boys.
Our version: One bright day in the middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight, back to back they face each other with swords drawn to kill each other, a paralyzed donkey was passing by, kicked on in his left right eye, threw him over a high low wall and drowned him in a dry waterfall.
Late one night, when the sun was shining brightTwo barefoot boys with shoes on went out in the street to fight.Back to back, they faced each other,Drew out their swords, and shot each other.A deaf policeman heard the noise, and beat the heck out of two dead boys.
One bright day in the middle of the night two dead boys got up to fight.Back to back they faced each other drew their swords and shot each other.A deaf policeman heard this noise, came out and shot the two dead boys.If you do not believe this lie is true ask the blind man he saw it too.
My mother told me this poem ever since I was little and I have always enjoyed its backwardsness. This is how I remember it;In the middle of the nightThe sun was shining brightTwo dead boys got up to fightBack to back they faced each otherDrew their swords and shot one anotherThe deaf policeman heard the noiseAnd came to kill the two dead boysIf you believe this lie so trueAsk the blind woman, he saw it tooMy mother told me she read it in an English text book back in grade school and I have always wondered what the original version was like. But so far I like hers the best!
One bright morning in February 1942, Japanese fighter planes machine-gunned the streets of Darwin, destroying ships, buildings and infrastructure. Scarfe's heroine, Zeny Havillland, had already experienced the exodus from Kuala Lumpur as the Japanese advanced towards Singapore. It was only by lucky chance that she managed to escape, disguised in mud cream aboard a camouflaged fishing vessel crewed by similarly disguised Australians, Bill and Joe. Kuala Lumpur was invaded by the Japanese defeating the jungle barrier on bicycles, Darwin's sea barrier looked set to be similarly overcome by Japanese in aircraft bombers.
One bright morning as the Fox was following his sharp nose through the wood in search of a bite to eat, he saw a Crow on the limb of a tree overhead. This was by no means the first Crow the Fox had ever seen. What caught his attention this time and made him stop for a second look, was that the lucky Crow held a bit of cheese in her beak. "No need to search any farther," thought sly Master Fox. "Here is a dainty bite for my breakfast."
If you were an ancient traveler, you would use the stars as a guide for navigation in the night. The bright morning star is the brightest star in the sky right before morning. It is different from the other stars because it is the only one which outshines the others, signaling a new day.
I am especially excited about this challenge! Each morning as I walk my dog I look up in the sky, as daylight is just beginning, and I always thank God for those beautiful stars! I live in the desert and we have absolutely beautiful skies filled with lots of stars. I am excited to be more intentional about thanking God for guiding me with his bright morning light. God bless each one of you as we go through this study together.
EARLY one bright morning in the middle of Indian summer,while the glacier meadows were still crisp with frost crystals,I set out from the foot of Mount Lyell,on my way down to Yosemite Valley,to replenish my exhausted store of bread and tea.I had spent the past summer,as many preceding ones,exploring the glaciers that lie on the head waters of the San Joaquin,Tuolumne,Merced,and Owen's rivers; measuring and studying their movements,trends,crevasses,moraines,etc.,and the part they had played during the period of their greater extension in the creation and development of the landscapes of this alpine wonderland.The time for this kind of work was nearly over for the year,and I began to look forward with delight to the approaching winter with its wondrous storms,when I would be warmly snow-bound in my Yosemite cabin with plenty of bread and books; but a tinge of regret came on when I considered that possibly I might not see this favorite region again until the next summer,excepting distant views from the heights about the Yosemite walls.
Here,however,on the head waters of the Tuolumne,is a group of wild peaks on which the geologist may say that the sun has but just begun to shine,which is yet in a high degree picturesque,and in its main features so regular and evenly balanced as almost to appear conventional--one somber cluster of snow-laden peaks with gray pinefringed granite bosses braided around its base,the whole surging free into the sky from the head of a magnificent valley,whose lofty walls are beveled away on both sides so as to embrace it all without admitting anything not strictly belonging to it.The foreground was now aflame with autumn colors,brown and purple and gold,ripe in the mellow sunshine; contrasting brightly with the deep,cobalt blue of the sky,and the black and gray,and pure,spiritual white of the rocks and glaciers.Down through the midst,the young Tuolumne was seen pouring from its crystal fountains,now resting in glassy pools as if changing back again into ice,now leaping in white cascades as if turning to snow; gliding right and left between granite bosses,then sweeping on through the smooth,meadowy levels of the valley,swaying pensively from side to side with calm,stately gestures past dipping willows and sedges,and around groves of arrowy pine; and throughout its whole eventful course,whether flowing fast or slow,singing loud or low,ever filling the landscape with spiritual animation,and manifesting the grandeur of its sources in every movement and tone.
I led them out of the valley by the Vernal and Nevada Falls,thence over the main dividing ridge to the Big Tuolumne Meadows,by the old Mono trail,and thence along the upper Tuolumne River to its head.This was my companions' first excursion into the High Sierra,and as I was almost always alone in my mountaineering,the way that the fresh beauty was reflected in their faces made for me a novel and interesting study.They naturally were affected most of all by the colors--the intense azure of the sky,the purplish grays of the granite,the red and browns of dry meadows,and the translucent purple and crimson of huckleberry bogs; the flaming yellow of aspen groves,the silvery flashing of the streams,and the bright green and blue of the glacier lakes.But the generalexpression of the scenery--rocky and savage--seemed sadly disappointing; and as they threaded the forest from ridge to ridge,eagerly scanning the landscapes as they were unfolded,they said: "All this is huge and sublime,but we see nothing as yet at all available for effective pictures.Art is long,and art is limited,you know; and here are fore-grounds,middle-grounds,backgrounds,all alike; bare rock-waves,woods,groves,diminutive flecks of meadow,and strips of glittering water." "Never mind," I replied,"only bide a wee,and I will show you something you will like."
Next morning,the artists went heartily to their work and I to mine.Former experiences had given good reason to know that passionate storms,invisible as yet,might be brooding in the calm sun-gold; therefore,before bidding farewell,I warned the artists not to be alarmed should I fail to appear before a week or ten days,and advised them,in case a snow-storm should set in,to keep up big fires and shelter themselves as best they could,andon no account to become frightened and attempt to seek their way back to Yosemite alone through the drifts.
God's glacial-mills grind slowly,but they havebeen kept in motion long enough in California to grind sufficient soil for a glorious abundance of life,though most of the grist has been carried to the lowlands,leaving these high regions comparatively lean and bare; while the post-glacial agents of erosion have not yet furnished sufficient available food over the general surface for more than a few tufts of the hardiest plants,chiefly carices and eriogonæ.And it is interesting to learn in this connection that the sparseness and repressed character of the vegetation at this height is caused more by want of soil than by harshness of climate; for,here and there,in sheltered hollows (countersunk beneath the general surface) into which a few rods of well-ground moraine chips have been dumped,we find groves of spruce and pine thirty to forty feet high,trimmed around the edges with willow and huckle-berry bushes,and oftentimes still further by an outer ring of tall grasses,bright with lupines,lark-spurs,and showy columbines,suggesting a climate by no means repressingly severe.All the streams,too,and the pools at this elevation are furnished with little gardens wherever soil can be made to lie,which,though making scarce any show at a distance,constitute charming surprises to the appreciative observer.In these bits of leafiness a few birds find grateful homes.Having no acquaintance with man,they fear no ill,and flock curiously about the stranger,almost allowing themselves to be taken in the hand.In so wild and so beautiful a region was spent my first day,every sight and sound inspiring,leading one far out of himself,yet feeding and building up his individuality. 2b1af7f3a8